Homestead

Chapter One

Tess balanced a fifty-pound bag of sweet feed on her right shoulder and wended her way through the aisle of the Agway toward the checkout counter. The burlap scratched the side of her neck with each step, as irritating as a bit of straw trapped under the waistband of her jeans. A trickle of sweat, sticky and hot, ran down the center of her back. The strands of strawberry-blond hair that had escaped her John Deere gimme cap clung to her cheek, resisting her efforts to swipe them away with the sleeve of her red-and-blue-checked cotton shirt.

Too damn hot already and not enough rain on top of that. Early June felt like mid-August—a sultry heat sat heavy on the cracked dry surface of fields where corn and soybean seedlings withered under cloudless skies. Heat waves rose from the steaming earth and clouded the horizon with shimmering curtains of haze. The milk cows lay down in what shade they could find, too dulled by the scorching sun to graze on the little pasture grass that would grow. Her feed bills were soaring in an effort to keep their weight up and their milk flowing. If the weather didn’t break soon, her projected profits in corn and milk were going to suffer. And she had precious little room for loss, not this year. Her goal was to grow all the silage and haylage her herd would need year-round, and she was close to reaching her goal—or she would be if the heat ever let up. She’d invested so much in her crops, if she had to supplement with store-bought feed she would have almost no profit to carry over into the next year’s budget.

“Help you there, Tess?” Jimmy Larsen asked as he rounded the corner with a length of hose in his hand. The skinny twenty-year-old wasn’t much taller than Tess’s five-seven and probably only had twenty pounds on her hundred and thirty. When he wasn’t working at the feed shop, he worked around the farm doing odd jobs and giving her and her foreman a hand.

“No, I’ve got it, Jimmy, thanks.” Tess smiled and moved on before he could strike up a conversation. He was well-meaning and harmless, but he’d had a crush on her since she’d babysat for him when he was ten, and she’d run out of ways to politely deflect his awkward advances. Fortunately, whenever he was at the farm, they were both too busy to do more than mutter a passing hello.

She joined the line at the makeshift checkout counter behind two brawny men in sweat-stained cotton shirts that looked pretty much like hers—dusty and pocked with bits of hay—as they discussed the main topics of conversation for farmers everywhere: the weather, the economy, and the price of feed. When they’d moved off, she balanced the bag against the front of the long board counter and pulled out the thin stack of folded twenties she’d pushed into the front pocket of her jeans when she’d left the house. Earl Bundy, barrel-chested with cheeks as flushed as his curly red hair, manned the counter. The county was littered with Bundys, one of the original founding families along with the Whitesides and Pearsons, and Earl had run the local Ag store as long as she could remember. He glanced at her absently, and then his pale blue eyes sharpened as he focused on her.

“Well there, Tess,” Earl said, his rough voice sounding like gravel crunching under the tires of her truck, “I was right sorry to hear about Ray. I woulda been there for the service but the wife was off at her mother’s and I had to drive out there to get her. She won’t fly, you know.”

“Thanks, Earl. That’s fine.” Tess believed the sincerity of his words, even though she knew her stepfather hadn’t been very popular with most of the locals. Ray Phelps hadn’t been born in Washington County; he hadn’t been a farmer by birth, but rather by marriage; and he’d never been of the land the way she and her mother were, despite two decades of working it. Earl’s sympathies were for her more than Ray, and she appreciated it.

“So,” he said, drawing out the word thoughtfully, “you still planning on going organic? Big change, especially running things all by yourself.”

Tess felt the hairs on her arms stand up and imagined if she’d been her long-departed coonhound Molly, the fur along her spine would be standing on end too. Never mind that farmers’ wives and daughters had worked the land same as the men and boys for centuries—driving plow teams and tractors, baling hay, and trucking produce to market—the idea of a woman in charge was still an oddity. Just as she’d understood his genuine sympathy for her loss, she also understood that beneath his question lay sincere concern as well, so she stifled the growl that wanted to climb out of her throat and nodded. Laying two twenties on the counter, she said, “Yep. Another six months and the whole herd will be certified.”

She didn’t add if the soil tests, the milk tests, the water tests and Lord-knew-how-many other tests all came back free of pesticides, metal contaminants, hormones, and a list of about two hundred other chemical derivatives. She couldn’t think about that right now or the little kernel of panic that festered in the pit of her stomach would blossom into all-out terror.

He cleared his throat and rang up the sale. “Well, if you need any help, I can always send Earl Junior around to give you a hand.”

“I appreciate that.” Tess pushed the change from the second twenty into her pocket. She wasn’t above accepting help when she needed it, but Earl Junior was the last person she wanted to show up offering a hand. He’d been offering a hand and a lot more than that ever since eighth grade, and despite the number of times and ways she’d said no, he didn’t seem to be getting the message. Even the wedding ring he now sported hadn’t deterred his efforts. Being a single woman in a small community was a bit like being male in an old folks’ home—a sought-after minority—and though she’d never made it a secret she wasn’t interested in male company, some people chose to ignore that message too. “Things are under control. But thanks.”

She reached down to hoist the feed again.

“Although,” Earl went on, “seeing as how they’ll probably be drilling soon, you might not have to worry about working the farm for all that much longer. You might be able to make a killing and retire.” He laughed and closed the cash drawer with a thump. “I know quite a few folks are hoping to do that.”

Icicles rained down Tess’s spine and she straightened, leaving the bag where it leaned against the counter. “What do you mean?”

“I heard over at the Grange last night that the planning board was set to repeal the moratorium on drilling that was voted in a number of years ago, especially since Rensselaer has gone ahead and done it already. They say the state’s gonna put a stop to all that anyhow before long—too much money in gas to leave it under the ground.”

“That doesn’t have anything…” Tess decided the less said the better. She’d learned a long time ago that silence and secrets were often far safer than misplaced trust. Too often, those who you thought were in your corner turned out not to be. “When is the vote supposed to come down?”

He scratched beneath his collar, his expression contemplative. “They’re saying sometime in the next month or so, but they’re already moving rigs into Johnsonville. I hear they’re about to start drilling out at the Hansen place.”

Her farm lay adjacent to the county line dividing Washington and Rensselaer, and the Hansen place was only a thin strip of forest away from her pastureland. She didn’t know nearly enough about what Earl was talking about, but she would very soon. She grabbed the sack and swung it onto her shoulder, barely noticing the weight pressing her down. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see after the vote then, won’t we?”

“Well, there’s some folks that are talking about some kind of petition, trying to stop things before they get started. I don’t know. There’s a lot of money tied up in those drilling rights. Farm your size, who knows what it could be worth?”

The chill moved deeper, threatening to freeze her in place. She couldn’t let her worry show—she couldn’t afford to appear vulnerable. Earl wasn’t the kind of man for whom subtlety came naturally, and she doubted he was probing for information. All the same, if word got around she didn’t have firm control over her operation, she’d have trouble. She’d had offers for the place before Ray was in the ground, and some of them had come in the form of veiled threats. Nothing she could call anyone on, but she’d heard what hadn’t been said. Sell now while the price was good—wait until her crazy plans turned sour and be at the mercy of whoever would bail her out.

“Thanks again, Earl,” Tess said, her chin up and her voice steady. “You stay cool now.”

As she shouldered her way out the door and across the gravel parking lot to her red Ford F-450 pickup, she imagined Earl’s gaze following her. She didn’t like feeling like a deer in the gunsights. Time for that to change.

Clay stretched under the warm water, working the kinks out of her shoulders as the shower spray beat against her skin like a thousand sharp needles. She hadn’t really registered how rigorous a workout she was getting from the enthusiastic sex the night before, but she was feeling it now in places where she usually didn’t. Although come to think of it, the recreational part of recreational sex had gotten to be sort of routine in the last…well, longer than she wanted to consider, so maybe she was out of practice. Last night had been a surprising and satisfying exception—the backs of her thighs were pleasingly tight, and her neck burned when she leaned her head back to wash her hair. Recalling a particularly passionate response from her bedmate, she wondered if that little interlude had left a mark, not that she cared. The mild discomfort was well worth the reward, and she was long past the time and place where signs of her recent activities were an embarrassment.

Smiling, she fingered the side of her throat. Charlotte from Charlotte had been adventurous, surprisingly talented in more ways than one, and damn good company. A PhD in biophysics, Charlotte hadn’t been able to find a job in her chosen field and, taking her sister’s advice, had signed on at American Airlines as a flight attendant. Somewhere between the bouts of mind-blistering sex, they’d had several interesting conversations about movies, books, and the economy. The only thing Clay hadn’t been willing to discuss had been the family business. No doubt Charlotte would’ve appreciated what she did for NorthAm Fuel, but as her job pretty much dictated every other part of her life, she didn’t want it coming into bed with her.

The phone rang outside the shower, and she cursed under her breath. She hadn’t checked in with the office last night and no one should have this number except her assistant Ella, and Ella would have tried her cell. At six a.m. she doubted the hotel staff were calling, which hopefully meant a wrong number. Before she could decide whether or not to answer, the ringing stopped.

Clay rinsed, toweled off her hair—grateful she kept it short enough not to require anything more than that—and slung a dry towel around her torso. Padding barefoot over the cool marble tile of the hotel bathroom, she stepped quietly into the bedroom, wondering if Charlotte would still be there. She was.

Sitting up in bed, thick black curls straggling down over her milky shoulders and the wrinkled white sheet folded neatly below her full breasts, Charlotte smiled and held out the phone. “Millicent would like to speak to you.”

Clay winced inwardly. Of course Millie would track her down. Millie had been tracking her down and meting out discipline as only Millie could for twenty-five of Clay’s thirty-three years on earth. Millie was the conscience Clay’s status would have silenced.

“Should I go?” Charlotte mouthed silently. Her full curves that had fit so well against Clay’s more angular, taller body looked very inviting outlined beneath the sheet.

“No. Stay,” Clay said in a normal voice. She would have liked to keep some things about her personal life private, but she’d long ago given up that pipe dream. Nothing about her life had been private since the day she was born. Being the sole heir to a dynasty tended to place her more into the category of commodity than person, even to those closest to her. She took the phone and sat down on the side of the bed next to Charlotte. “Good morning, Millie.”

“I’m glad I caught you,” her father’s executive assistant said without the slightest hint of sarcasm or criticism. Despite her willingness to take Clay to task for her peccadillos, Millie had been one of the few people who had unflinchingly supported Clay through rumor, accusation, and scandal. Her father had not so much supported her as handled the problem, and she wasn’t sure to this day if he’d cared about her side of things or not. She wasn’t even sure he’d believed her explanation.

Clay shook off the past with an irritated shrug. The past was the past, and none of that mattered any longer. “What’s the emergency?”

“I’m afraid your travel plans have been changed.”

“What this time?” Clay tucked the phone between her ear and her shoulder and slid her hand under the sheet onto Charlotte’s smooth thigh. Charlotte wasn’t due to fly out until the afternoon and neither was she. Her morning plans had been no more complicated than room service, breakfast in bed, and more of Charlotte. She eased her fingertips over the firm curve of Charlotte’s thigh onto the creamy, soft skin high up on the inside of her leg. Charlotte made a humming sound of pleasure and pressed her hand over Clay’s through the sheet.

Charlotte’s hand was smooth and feminine, with tapering fingers and manicured nails painted a pale pink. Clay pictured her own hands, as much like her father’s as her thick dark-brown hair, chestnut-brown eyes, and muscular build—strong broad fingers, slightly calloused at the tips, moving now over Charlotte’s tender flesh. The image made Clay want to earn her reputation as a ruthless corporate pirate and plunderer. She grinned at Charlotte. “One minute.”

Charlotte regarded her from beneath half-lowered lids, her dark eyes smoky with invitation. “Hurry.”

Clay’s clit tightened. “I’m kind of busy right now, Millie. I’ll call you when I get to—”

“You’re not going to Kansas City. We need you in the Hudson Valley.”

Clay stiffened. She understood the we to mean her father, since it wasn’t unusual for him to decide he needed to pull her from one job to another at a moment’s notice. She wasn’t just the vice president for operations of her father’s many enterprises, she was his general all-around troubleshooter. If a job was going bad, he sent her to find out why and to fix it. If that meant cutting political deals to find ways around problematic zoning regulations or strong-arming subcontractors to keep on deadline, she did it. She was used to the nomadic lifestyle and no longer fought the reality that her life was never really her own. She’d never been bothered by being unpopular. She’d never really wanted friends—not the ones she’d grown up with, who were more impressed by status than substance.

Usually her destination barely registered—one hotel, one drilling field, was pretty much like every other. The corporate jet would take her wherever she needed to go. But the one place she did not want to go was the Hudson Valley. “Where’s Ali? The Johnsonville project is his baby.”

“Alejandro is in Switzerland, overseeing the shipping deal. And this isn’t really his thing anyhow. Robert wants to break ground. We’re already moving in the crews.”

“Then send—”

“Roberta,” Millie said, one of the only people who ever called her by her given name—her father’s namesake—and only then when Millie was making an unassailable point. “Your father wants you in the Hudson Valley. There’s been a change in the county regs, and the window of time may be small for us to establish our presence.”

“So he wants me to get the rigs in and make it more expensive to get rid of us than to—”

“I don’t believe a discussion of business strategy is warranted given the circumstances,” Millie said coolly, as if she had X-ray vision to go along with her nerves of steel.

Of course, maybe she really could see where Clay’s hand had wandered.

“Fine,” Clay said, biting off the word and restraining herself from taking out her anger on Millie, a messenger she did not want to kill no matter how unpleasant her missive. “When?”

Millie laughed softly. “Now that’s a silly question. The jet’s fueling now and Ella is overseeing the arrangements. How about an hour and a half?”

“Ninety minutes? That’s a little—”

Charlotte moved Clay’s hand higher and pressed it to the V between her thighs. She was warm and wet, and a muscle in Clay’s belly twitched.

“Tell them two hours.” Clay disconnected and tossed the phone onto a nearby chair. She drew the sheet down, dropped the towel on the floor, and stretched out on top of Charlotte. Her five-ten frame covered Charlotte’s completely. Charlotte’s breasts were full and firm against hers. The muscles in her chest, honed from working in the field whenever she could, tensed as she gripped Charlotte’s wrists, pinning her lightly to the bed.

Charlotte licked water droplets from her neck. “You’re still wet.”

Clay kissed her and settled her hips between Charlotte’s thighs. “I was about to say—”

“If you’ve only got two hours, don’t say anything.” Charlotte wrapped her legs around Clay’s hips and nibbled on her lip. “Just fuck me.”

Clay rarely took orders, but when a beautiful woman in bed gave instructions, she didn’t argue. Charlotte didn’t seem to notice when her mind drifted to the upcoming trip and a place she’d hoped never to see again.